


I've got the twenty first century breathing down my neck

by quietwandering



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Transformation, Cat/Human Hybrids, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering
Summary: I must move fast, you understand me
Relationships: Johnny Marr/Morrissey, Morrissey/Andy Rourke
Comments: 22
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look at all this self indulgent _nonsense_ I wrote about Moz being a fucking catboy. This is also SPIDERB4BY's fault, as I've talked with them for literally two days about this stupid AU. What even. 
> 
> Also, there may be more chapters, who knows. No promises, but boy howdy. I have a lot of thoughts about this 'verse. 
> 
> Title is [Frankly Mr. Shankly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gemNU9mTsig) by The Smiths for literally discernible no reason.

The changes were subtle at first. I had hardly even noticed them. My reflection would stare back at me, horrible to look upon as always, and I would sometimes stare for a moment longer at the tips of my ears or the strange roughness of my tongue - but it was all quickly forgotten as the day went on. 

It was the less obvious things that made me start to question it all - like when I could hear Johnny talking in another room, or the time I didn't need my glasses to walk to the kitchen for a glass of water despite my inability to see more than a few inches in front of me. I could even see in the dark now.

If I had some mysterious illness, I honestly didn’t want to know about it, or if I really had gone mad in some terrible twist of fate then so be it. I would embrace it, wholly. I had longed for an early death for as long as I could remember - the only actual tragedy would be the end of The Smiths. 

I knew that my efforts to ignore the matter were in vain, however, when I walked into the studio and felt three sets of eyes upon me at once. As usual, Johnny was the first out of his seat, and he buzzed around me for a good two minutes, fingers gingerly touching the now obvious point of my ears. “What's all this then?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” It was the truth. I had no idea what could’ve caused such an affliction. There were no known records of someone developing distinctly feline features in a matter of weeks - I had looked through everything I could get my hands on and was completely sure of it by now. “It’s simply how I woke up.” 

“Huh.” 

Andy and Mike ventured closer at this point, and I tried to stay calm under their scrutiny. If I didn’t let them gawk, I’d never get a moment’s peace. They would stare at me till I had holes bored into my skin. Andy seemed mostly interested in my teeth, many of which now had slight points, so I let him touch one and laughed when he yanked it back just as fast, blood welling on the tip. “That’s just fuckin’ weird, Moz.” 

“I suppose normality was never in the cards for me anyways,” I said, knowing I was being a touch melodramatic. I was finally allowed to sit down and talk about the lyrics I’d written to the melody Johnny had sent me last night. I didn’t do well with technology, I hardly ever used my phone unless forced, but Johnny would send me audio messages with the riffs he’d come up with so I had little choice in the matter.

We worked on the new song until about tea time. Andy and Mike decided to head out for the night while I stayed with Johnny to watch him fiddle with the production board. I could now hear the click of all the knobs and the steady beat of Johnny’s heart, I could hear the annoying rattle of the air conditioning vent above us and the distant sounds of traffic rumbling by. It was an overwhelming crescendo that somehow calmed me, reminded me of how absolutely present I was in the moment.

“So, like - you’ve no idea what’s up then? ‘Cuz the press is gonna lose it when they see you.” Johnny didn’t look up from what he was doing, and I had a hard time realizing he wasn’t just mumbling to himself again. I thought it over and finally shrugged. “Shit, you think it was one of the fans or sumthin’?”

I understood the implication well enough - there had been an incident a few weeks ago when a fan had given us all a tin of biscuits, all of which were fish flavored. Unfortunately, I had been the only one subjected to that particular trauma before the rest were tossed out, so there was no way of knowing if those particularly foul treats had been the cause of my sudden transformation. 

“I’m not sure...perhaps. There's no way of knowing for sure, I suppose." Johnny finally looked up, his eyes locked to my own, before he drew a thumb across my brow, smoothing it down a little. I wanted to thank him, as they were always sticking up at the wildest of angles, but for some reason I couldn't get the words out, my throat oddly tight with emotion. “You would think if one of our fans were this powerful a sorceress she’d have made herself known before now.” 

Johnny laughed and tapped his in chin in thought. “Well, maybe they only decided to learn the craft because they hated us. Heard our first record and really thought it was absolute bollocks, y’know? So they thought the best way to shut you up was by turnin' you into a cat or sumthin'."

“I would be overjoyed to be the cause of such brutal transmogrification,” I murmured, fully aware Johnny was being facetious. I really didn't mind what had happened though. It was inconvenient, maybe, but I’d not turned into some ghastly creature. If someone had done this out of spite, it was certainly an odd choice to turn me into such a wonderous animal.

Johnny went back to mixing our new song, playing the clip back over and over in his headphones until it sounded right, and I allowed myself to lean into his shoulder to sleep. 

/ 

Another peculiar development occurred over the next few days - I had started to inexplicably wander into the back garden and stretch myself out upon the grass for a nap. I should have preferred my bed, I spent hours there without complaint before now, but as I looked out my window and down into the yard I felt an unusual longing to be out there instead. 

So out there I laid, happy and warm, with my fingers dug into the soil - another private pleasure that had cropped up seemingly from nowhere. I would endlessly scratch at the dirt, again and again, until the tips of my fingers ached. It was so strangely satisfying, so much so that I had to start indulging the habit elsewhere. 

I started with the leather cover of my journal, which was nice, but then I had tried the wooden top of my nightstand. The sensation had shot straight up my arm and had me sighing in pure satisfaction. It was so addictive, and I finally had to break off an old chair leg so I could pack it into the garden with me. It took me getting a splinter wedged under my fingernail to realize that they, too, had changed at some point, going from rounded to sharpened when I flexed my hand. 

I sometimes worried that I'd lose all trace of my humanity, that I would lose the ability to read or not be able to put words to paper, but I was still unbearably human in many ways. I’d have inexplicable impulses, especially when it came to knocking Johnny’s guitar picks to the floor, but my mind hadn't been entirely uprooted or debased. I didn’t sprout tufts of hair all over, I didn't lose my natural eloquence and start to mewl - it just seemed like I was going through some kind of horrid second puberty, really.

Though Johnny didn’t feel as confident about my sanity being in tact, and I didn't blame him for it. I had developed an urgent need for his attention, and it felt like I was going to crawl out of my own skin if he didn't touch my hand or stroke the back of my neck, pet my hair, _anything._ Johnny could hardly get a riff recorded without me forcefully rubbing my cheek against his shoulder, desperate for the slightest sign of his affection. 

The best part of the day started to be when Mike and Andy left the studio, and I could rest my head in Johnny’s lap as he worked on the mixing board. It was as warm as the garden and smelled twice as nice. Johnny was an intoxicating mix of cigarettes, denim and leather, all rolled up into one. I would burrow my head into his stomach, and he would absently run his fingers through my hair, his head bopping along to whatever song he was working on at the time. 

I would sleep for hours like that, sat on the floor next to his chair, and it was only when he’d gently shake me awake to drive me home that I’d even notice time had passed. It was an increasingly difficult affair to rouse me and even more strenuous to convince me to leave his side, much to my embarrassment. Johnny would sometimes have to walk me up to my front door because I’d not want to get out of the car - I had even unintentionally clawed up the dashboard when he had to drag me out once 

It was unreasonable, as we worked in close quarters all day, but I felt horrendously lonely when we were apart. I would tread through my apartment, one end to the other, for hours on end until I picked up the phone and just called him. His voice soothed me enough that I could go sit in the garden and feel something akin to tranquility again, though I longed to be able to drive and go see him. 

Mike hadn’t seemed to notice the problem, but Andy cornered me before he left one night with an unusually serious expression. I had been ready to push past him, irritated he was keeping me from going to my usual spot next to Johnny’s side, but he had his hand on my shoulder to keep me from going anywhere. “Yes? What is it then?” I asked, my tone impatient.

“I think you should come back with me tonight,” Andy said, and I angrily pulled at his wrist, not sure what I was even so worked up about. It was just infuriating that he was intervening in the only part of my day that had been worthwhile lately, aside from getting to sing. “I think Johnny might need some space, is all. He’s a little tired.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s _fine_. How would you even know what he’s feeling like anyways? You’re hardly ever here.” I flinched at how cruel that had sounded. The panic in my chest seemed to have been interfering with my common sense. Andy had known Johnny far longer than me, a whole decade to my handful of years, and it was obvious how close they were to one another. My shoulders slouched in, and I shut my eyes in frustration. 

Andy didn’t comment, just tugged my arm, and I slowly followed along behind him, my eyes cast back to Johnny at the mixing board, his shoulders clearly tense. I had no doubt he’d been listening to me make a fool of myself these past few minutes, and I was almost paralyzed with shame as Andy got me out to his car. 

“You wanna listen to anything in particular?” Andy asked as he picked up his phone and flicked open the music app. I shook my head, unable to speak, only to then quietly ask if he could put on The Shangri-Las, sighing when _Remember_ started to play. I wanted to apologize, to acknowledge that I had been a horrendous pain, but it was easier to stare out the window and ignore it all. 

Andy lived in a nice neighborhood thanks to his parents, and his flat was only a half hour away despite the terrible traffic. When we arrived, Andy unlocked the door and said he'd make us some tea before shuffling to the kitchen. I made a grateful noise and wondered around the flat for a while, taking in all the photos and records and DVDs scattered about. I had hardly ever been to his apartment before, couldn’t even remember the last time I’d visited, but it was spacious and quiet.

Even better was that the couch was luxuriously soft, and I was able to stretch all the way out on it, though I purposefully dangled my feet off the end. This was far better than my own flat, really, and, despite how much I missed Johnny, I didn’t feel nearly as lonely. 

The kettle whistled in the kitchen, followed by the typical clatter of cups, and then Andy was back with tea and some well done toast. I thanked him, still apprehensive, but gladly took both. “You’re being incredibly kind to me." I paused to take a careful bite of the toast, extremely mindful of my teeth after I'd nearly bitten through my tongue one too many times. “I’m not sure I would do the same if I were you.” 

“S’alright. I don’t mind,” Andy said, blowing on his tea. I didn’t know what to say so I stared intently at my lap instead, running my blunt nails along the couch cushion. After a moment, I felt a soft touch at the back of my neck and shivered as Andy began to pet along the length of it, soon working his fingers up into my hair to tug at it. 

My hands shook as I set my tea down and pressed my head into Andy’s lap, not bothering to ask if it was okay. Andy’s thighs were so soft, he wasn’t nearly as thin as Johnny, and the callused tips of his fingers worked gentle circles into my scalp. I was ready to doze off when a loud noise suddenly came out my throat, like that of a car engine, and I let out a terrified yelp as I scrambled to sit up, clutching at my throat in horror. Andy seemed amused by it all, but I couldn’t for the life of me see what was so funny. “What? What _was_ that?” 

“Think you were purrin’,” Andy said, still smiling. I stared at him, wanting to say that was outlandish, but - it did seem to be the most likely explanation. I just hated that it had happened entirely out of my control, and that yet another part of me had changed without my knowledge. 

I shifted uncomfortably but allowed Andy to tug me back down after a while and shut my eyes as his fingers pushed back into my hair. My heart was beating too fast for me to fall asleep, but his touch calmed me down far quicker than I thought possible. I soon rolled over to press my face into his stomach like I did with Johnny, still uncertain if it was alright, but Andy stayed just as relaxed, his hand shifting to rub between my shoulders. I clung to him and hoped it was enough to show I was sorry for having been so difficult earlier. 

“It’s not so bad, huh? All this.” I glanced up, confused, and Andy rubbed his finger along my ear, making me shiver - they were unusually sensitive nowadays. “Just thinkin’. I know it’s probably a bit daft, but I can’t imagine all this being too awful a time. You’re the best singer in the world, in the best band in the world, and now you’ve...you’ve become quite a handsome cat, yeah?” 

I felt my face heat up and huffed out a laugh. “Well, I can’t say I’d have chosen the latter, but it’s not been the most awful of experiences, no. I’m just grateful I’ve no need for a litter pan.” Andy snorted and squeezed my shoulder, and I rolled onto my back, let him knead his palm in my chest. “I do wish at times I was back to my usual self, but I can’t deny how nice it is to suddenly be able to see in the dark, though I am constantly nicking myself - which is just unbearable.” 

Andy nodded in understanding and moved to scratch at my stomach. I almost shoved his hand away, I wasn’t an _actual_ animal, but I was overtaken by how pleasurable it felt. My head lolled back as I clutched at his arm, and that awful noise started up once more - that _purring_. I’d have done anything to make it stop, I hated how it made my chest rattle like a screen door, but I couldn't find it in myself to pull away, feeling far too relaxed to do much other than lie there. 

“See? Not so bad at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm just gonna be writing about catboy Moz till the end of my days now. Oh well.

I began to visit Andy more regularly after we were finished in the studio, usually a few times a week. It became a kind of routine where, whenever Johnny was a bit wore out, I'd head to Andy's place instead. I hardly even saw my own bed anymore between spending the night at Johnny’s house or Andy’s flat. I usually slept on the couch, though sometimes I’d end up in their bed if I got too cold. Andy would even let me press against him, which was nice, but Johnny always kept me at a distance. 

It was alarming at times that I’d lost my desire to be alone so often. I had always preferred my solitude despite the pointed concerns of others, but the silence of my bedroom was suffocating as of late. The quiet noises Johnny made as he slept, the soft thump of Andy's heartbeat - it had started to soothe me more than anything else. 

They were both so important in helping me adjust to my new impulses. Andy, especially, delighted in bringing home all manner of oddities to help with my incessant need to scratch and tear. At first I’d been nothing short of offended that he thought me such a mindless creature, gifting me trinkets and baubles made for actual cats, but I slowly realized that they gave me an outlet for urges I didn’t know how to otherwise satisfy. 

I would have never admitted it to anyone, I hardly wanted to acknowledge it myself, but there was something about the noise of a jingly plastic toy or the squeak of a soft plush that made me feel an overwhelming sense of pleasure. I hated coming to terms with such an inhuman part of my psyche, but Andy was always frustratingly delighted by it all, throwing some small, jangly thing across the room whenever I complained. 

Johnny preferred to sit and watch old documentaries with me on the couch, my head in his lap as he smoked a joint or two. He’d stroke my hair, the tips of my ears, and talk to me about whatever was on the screen, usually something about Aldous Huxley or some 1950s beat poet, which always helped remind me I wasn't just some mindless animal - I was a singer, I was a writer, I was _human_.

I feared what would happen when we had finished recording our album though - the press still hadn’t caught wind of what had happened to me, and there would be no way of hiding the black slit of my irises or the sharp points of my teeth when we were in an interview. Johnny had said that we could just attribute it to me getting really into body modification, but that seemed ludicrously at odds with my delicate nature. 

But we were getting the last tracks finished up, and there were talks of a tour brought up - one that might involve us needing to go to America. I hated planes already but having to spend hours being stared at seemed nothing short of my worst nightmare, and, of course, my proposal for a private jet was immediately vetoed.

I had decided the best option would be to have a photoshoot done before the album was released. That way, our music could at least have a shot of being judged fairly without all the focus being on me. The photographer, Kevin, was incredibly quiet when Johnny had driven me out to meet him, but he took us to a nearby park and took shots of me among the flowers that were nothing short of stunning. 

The world at large went into a frenzy when they were released. Johnny looked haggard from all the calls he’d gotten, begging for interviews, while Andy took great lengths to let us know about all the latest conspiracy theories. Each one was more outrageous than the next, and I was constantly amazed that people could spend _that_ much time talking about someone they didn’t know. 

Our Japanese fans seemed to be the most excited about it all and took great effort to send love and support to ‘ _Neko-Kun!’_ \- which was me apparently. The American press had decided that I was some kind of pervert leading the revolution for zoophiles, and the BBC thought me a threat to the cultural sanctity of England. 

It was all very tiring but our publicist continued to let everyone know I had no interest in making a statement on the matter. Johnny fielded the questions on our social media (no, I hadn’t had plastic surgery; no, I hadn’t been a failed genetic experiment; no, I wouldn’t be a case study for a medical investigation), but I wouldn’t partake in such a useless waste of my time no matter how desperate people were to hear from me. 

In a few weeks, the scandal had died down, as I had expected, and our album was released with favorable reviews. The words _‘miserable_ ’ and ‘ _depressing_ ’ were thrown around a lot, as always, but I was pleased that the jokes made at my expense seemed to be minimal. Johnny’s songwriting skills were praised, and there were encouraging remarks about the improvement of our rhythm section. 

The tour to America was postponed for a later album so I was thrilled to not have to venture far from home, though the drive to Newcastle for our first gig hadn’t been all that pleasant. I had paced the tour bus for hours, feeling terribly claustrophobic, until Andy had let me get in his bunk with him. I hated not being able to stretch out, and I missed my spot in the garden, but Andy’s warm arms kept the panic at bay. 

I'd been so surprised when we arrived and Johnny said we all had our own seperate rooms, though I shouldn't have been obviously. It had always been that way, especially since I demanded privacy more often than not, but when I sat my bags down by the door, and looked around the empty, desolate space of my room, I felt nothing but dread. I tried to go about things as I usually would - I unpacked what I needed for the night, I cleaned myself up and got ready for bed, put on my dressing gown - but I had hardly lied down for five minutes before the silence felt like it was suffocating me.

I was out the door in an instant, not even bothering to find my room key on the way out, and went to knock frantically at Johnny's door, rattling the knob impatiently when he didn't answer right away. "Johnny? Johnny, are you awake?"

"Just hold the fuck on for a second, Moz, christ." I heard him walking around a little before the door finally creaked open, and I wrapped myself around him like I hadn't seen him just half an hour ago. Johnny rubbed my back a little and walked us over to the bed, letting me lie close to him for once. "Better?"

I nodded, heart rate slowing a little, and breathed in the scent of him. I had noticed lately that whenever I rubbed my cheek against him he smelled better so I gently nuzzled into his sleeping shirt to mark him. I tried to be subtle about it, not wanting Johnny to know what I was doing, but his low laugh made me well aware I'd been caught. Johnny just gently petted at my hair though and reached for his vape box, thick clouds of clear smoke billowing out his nose as he hummed something I didn't recognize. 

We were close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek, and when I leaned in to press our lips together it made me shiver with excitement. It was chaste and slow, and I sucked at his bottom lip for a while before moving to do the same with the top one. I hadn't meant to deepen the kiss, not really, but I darted my tongue into his mouth anyways, if only to get a better taste of him, licking gently along the inside of his cheek and the back of his teeth.

His tongue only touched mine for a moment before he pulled back, flushed and more beautiful than ever. I felt a jolt of worry run through me - had I been too forward about my desire? Johnny just smiled at me though, his brilliant brown eyes making my breath catch, before he brought me a bit closer and kissed up my cheek, right up to my ear. He sucked the lobe into his mouth, teased it around with his tongue, and playfully nipped at the curve of it before nuzzling at the pointed ends. I moaned and tried to twist closer, but he was already kissing down my neck, making my head to tilt back. 

As he began to suck the skin between his teeth, I unintentionally clawed right through his shirt and scratched a few bloody gouges into the back of his shoulder. Johnny hissed a bit in pain, grimacing at the sting of it, but before I could apologize he bit down on my neck just as hard, left just as noticeable a mark on me as if I were his lover. 

I bucked my hips frantically in response, moaned loud and low as Johnny licked over that spot again and again. Johnny's hand slipped down to my arse and grabbed it before shoving us closer together, rutting and writhing against me like some wild creature. I kicked my feet helplessly against the bed as I began to come, a low noise rumbling through my throat, one I'd not ever heard myself make before. 

Johnny shivered against me, and I had no doubt he'd reached his own orgasm right then. I sighed and relaxed back into the bed once his grip had let up some, sweaty and strangely content with the cooling mess between my legs. Johnny buried his face into my hair after a bit, huffing softly, and I shifted to lie against him better. " _Fuck_."

I laughed, slightly startled by Johnny's voice in my dazed state. "Mm, not quite, but still very satisfying I'd say."

Johnny was quiet for a minute longer, ducking his head down to kiss me for a moment, and sighed. "I just - I don't wanna fuck this up. The two of us. The band's too important."

I pushed his hair behind his ear and thought for a moment. "I know, but I trust you, Johnny. I know you wouldn't hurt me." 

"Not if I can help it," Johnny whispered, wrapping his arm back around me, squeezing me tight. I held him back just as tightly only to realize there was still blood running down his shoulder in sticky rivulets, staining his ruined shirt. Johnny winced a bit as I pulled away - god, I was so ashamed that I'd hurt him - but he grabbed my elbow before I could get too far and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Let's go wash off then, yeah?"


End file.
